


The Siege of Stralsund

by ICryYouMercy (TrafalgarsLaw)



Category: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy Gentleman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:33:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrafalgarsLaw/pseuds/ICryYouMercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There seems to be a distinct lack of sieges after the Treaty of Utrecht, and a equally distinct lack of a lovestory after the affair with Widow Wadman, and while Uncle Toby might be content to wallow in self-pity for a while, Trim most decidedly is not content to watch him do so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Siege of Stralsund

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilliburlero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliburlero/gifts).



> This is a (somewhat belated) birthday present for [lilliburlero](http://lilliburlero.tumblr.com/). It's also entirely unbeta'd. Sorry 'bout that.

While one might be forgiven for thinking that the story of Uncle Toby's amours ended after the regrettable affair with Widow Wadman, one would nevertheless be wrong in that assumption. It would also be wrong to assume that said affair was the first or only time that Uncle Toby had fallen in love.

There is another story to be told, one less fit for public reading, one less suited to cause amusement and pity in the reader. And yet, in trying to preserve the truth for later generations of readers, this should be set down.

It began some weeks after Trim had explained to Uncle Toby, as politely as he could, the reason for Widow Wadman's interest in his wound. And as most events in Uncle Toby's life began, this too began with a siege.

After the demolition of Dunkirk, the bowling green had lain barren, Uncle Toby having lost all hope for a new siege, and being thoroughly occupied by courtship and love. And then, when that occupation, too, had failed, he had turned back to his books hoping to find distraction there. And while books on sieges and warfare proved still as entertaining as they had years ago, they could not replace the excitement and joy of having a real siege to play. There was no new newspaper every morning, to be searched for any information on how the battle was playing out, there were no new weapons and bridges to be built, there was no invention, no innovation to be made. It had all been seen and written and done before, and Uncle Toby found himself both disappointed and tired.

He would very likely have remained so until England had found herself another war, had it not been for Trim. He had, at first, thought that they might play out the old sieges, the ones Uncle Toby's books were written about, but he soon realised that this endeavour would prove more harm than good, as it would only serve to remind Uncle Toby that there was nothing new to be heard.

Trim might have understood this as grounds to give up and just try to make Uncle Toby as comfortable as possible while they both waited for the next war to come along. But he was a military man, a corporal, and as such he was not predisposed towards giving up at the least implication of complications. He tended to see it more as a dare, as a challenge, than anything else.

And so Trim, while Uncle Toby tried to find solace in his books, found solace far better, though somewhat further fetched. He had, by means which a proper gentleman should neither know about nor mention, obtained a map of a Swedish port by name of Stralsund and a list of the troops involved in the action. And then he had one morning, rising far earlier than he usually would, cleaned up the bowling green, hanging the map in the sentry box with utmost care, setting out all the tools he would need for this new campaign.

When Uncle Toby, upon rising, could not find Trim anywhere in the house, and so found his way to the garden and bowling green, Trim was already waiting for him with an expression that might not be called a smile in perfect honesty, but was so gentle and affectionate that doing so would not have been quite a lie yet either.

Morning greetings were exchanged, and Uncle Toby was just about to return to his books and disappointment when he saw the tools spread on the bowling green, and so turned back to look at Trim, who, Uncle Toby realised, had an appearance that one need almost call eager, had that not been a word as unsuitable to the dutiful and restrained corporal as could be imagined.

"Have there been unexpected news?" Uncle Toby inquired, with more disbelief and less hope than Trim might have been hoping for, but yet with more animation and interest than he had shown for anything in these last sad weeks following Dunkirk.

And Trim, starting to speak, as though floodgates had been opened, told Uncle Toby everything he knew and everything he might infer from the map and scant news reporting he had gathered. I was little, to be honest, but it was something, at least, and something that might prove part of a greater war yet, and so Trim had hope enough for the both of them, and enthusiasm to keep it company as well.

And with many words and many more interruptions, the following image was painted. There was a map. Of a port that had been under siege since seventeen elven. There were troops of Sweden, Denmark, Prussia and Russia. There had been a plague epidemic and a change in succession and a retreat, and with the added complication and challenge of defending a port under siege, it might yet make for a suitable entertainment for a few weeks at least.

"We might to be inventive, an' it please your honour, as there are few news reports, and fewer details," Trim tried to apologise, but Uncle Toby, already caught up in his new siege, did not seem to care much. They were already four years behind the timetable Trim had found them, and there was a whole city to be built, and a port along with it, and there might even be the need to devise some means of naval warfare on the dry bowling green, and while it was not an English war, it was still a great siege, and it was as such already by far better than any of the books could ever be.

And so for the first time in weeks, Uncle Toby picked up a paper and Trim picked up a shovel, and they set to the task of building a new city.

While this task might usually have been accomplished with a certain routine and efficiency, the circumstances necessitated repeated interruptions and discussions upon the map that in spite of Trim's best efforts, proved to be insufficiently precise to quickly replicate the siege it portrayed.

And so Trim found himself standing next to Uncle Toby, watching him gesture with the pipe that Widow Wadman had usually so deftly removed from his hands, and wishing himself able to do the same.

It was not a proper thought for him to have, even less so that it had been for Widow Wadman to carry out. He was well aware of that much, at least, though it did not bother him over much when Uncle Toby, after a particularly emphatic gesture, barely managed to catch his pipe before it fell to the floor. Trim, who had learned to take unexpected chances as soon as they presented themselves, lest he should miss them, took this as his excuse to remove the pipe from Uncle Toby's gesturing and set it aside with rather more care than was its due.

Uncle Toby, taking this as the interruption it had not intended to be, gave the map another decisive glance and then turned to the bowling green, pointing out the few minor adjustments the walls and the city streets would need. And Trim picked up his shovel and went to adjust the walls and city streets.

It was past noon before Trim could begin with the trenches, and with the map such as it was, this too relied more on guesswork and experience than either of them would have preferred, but it was nevertheless better than the demolished Dunkirk that had stood in its place.

The trenches and their exact measurements, and the exact positioning of the troops and cannons and bridges and various minor adjustments and corrections kept them busy well into the afternoon, and the sun was fairly close to setting when the both of them stood considering the map once more, Uncle Toby's pipe still safely set aside, and Trim's shovel leaning against the sentry box, to be set to use tomorrow, when they would try and reconstruct the four years of siege they had so far missed.

Uncle Toby, still not entirely certain of his good fortune and luck to have found another siege, so soon after Dunkirk, seemed reluctant to leave the garden again so soon, and he had already missed lunch, so caught up in his new siege. And while Trim was always glad to see him in good spirits, they would need to eat dinner at some point, having already missed lunch in Uncle Toby's excitement about his new siege.

It proved more than slightly difficult to draw Uncle Toby's attention to this fact, however. And so Trim, feeling almost as daring as he felt foolish, tried what Widow Wadman had failed so many times before. He stepped a bit closer to Uncle Toby and his map, tried to move himself into Uncle Toby's line of sight, then moved closer yet and moved his hands over the map. This did not only fail to distract Uncle Toby, it also resulted in Trim's hands being used to point to or mark areas of the map that Uncle Toby was considering, and therefore needed marked, but could not do so with his own hands, those being already busy gesturing at the map and the bowling green.

And Trim would have felt exasperated, had his affection not far outweighed any negative feelings he might have found in himself. But there was still the matter of dinner to be considered, and so in a somewhat foolish and perhaps overhasty movement, Trim grabbed one of Uncle Toby's fluttering hands.

He had, however, not calculated for the routine Uncle Toby had in disregarding another's attentions when he was caught up in contemplation of fortification, and so Trim found his fingers twined with Uncle Toby's, the gesturing no less enthusiastic or quick for having to move a second set of hands.

And this was when everything fell apart, or maybe it came together. It is always difficult to tell with these things, love being as it is, and affection and familiarity only serving to add confusion rather than to alleviate it. Falling apart might therefore not have been the best expression to use, but for lack of another suitably poetic one, it would have to serve.

What happened now, was, regardless of how one might term the overall event, were a collection of small movements that managed to entirely change the course of Uncle Toby's life, and Trim's right along with it, and perhaps that of Widow Wadman, too, seeing as now, she would never find herself courted by her delightful though distracted neighbour again.

Trim, in his desperation about Uncle Toby's inattention to dinner, had resigned and stopped Uncle Toby's gesturing. Which was not a movement at all, but rather lack thereof, ignoring the short and soon aborted attempt of Uncle Toby's to free his hands and recommence the explanation.

In a second movement, Uncle Toby blinked his eyes. Twice. And then he seemed to realise that Trim had been attempting to speak to him, which made him blink for a third time.

The third movement was Uncle Toby's mouth opening to issue an apology and explanation and inquiry as to Trim's intention.

The fourth movement was finally an apology.

The fifth movement, and probably the one most worthy of note, was when Trim let go of Uncle Toby's hand, and laid a finger over Uncle Toby's lips, interrupting any further attempts at apologies or explanations. This, while certainly unusual, was however not what would change the course of their lives quite yet.

The final movement, the one that would forever change everything, was when Trim removed his finger. And then, carefully, well aware of Uncle Toby's complete lack of knowledge of those matters, he leaned in, replacing his finger with his lips for one perfect, frail moment.

It might prove interesting to investigate the exact cultural and educational reasons why one might think it acceptable to silence one's beloved with a kiss, and it might also prove interesting to investigate which cultural values lead to Trim taking this moment out of all the years he had spent with Uncle Toby as the moment where he would finally take a chance.

But for now, let us just note that Uncle Toby, still being somewhat confused about the right and wrong ends of women, was even more confused about the revelation that apparently, this discussion might also involve some debate about the right and wrong ends of men. And being confused, he did what he always did in such situations. He started whistling Lillabullero.

But he did, eventually, follow Trim back to the house, and dinner was eaten in comfortable and familiar quiet, and the episode might have almost been forgotten amongst debate about how to proceed in a siege that wasn't observed as keenly by the newspapers as the British ones had been.

And then, in a moment of rather unusual bravery, even for a man like Uncle Toby, he did manage to return the kiss he had received that afternoon in saying his goodnights. It might have been rather more clumsy and hasty, but it did achieve the its main objective in communicating, more eloquently than any whistling or talking might have done, Uncle Toby's feelings upon the matter.

It might have ended there, the score being even now, and perhaps, most people would think it did, being blind to the countless small touches and gestures of affection that had gone from badly and awkwardly hidden beneath a carefully cultured veneer of duty and loyalty to open and unselfconscious demonstration of devotion and adoration.


End file.
